


Detour

by Aurae



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Chance Meetings, Crossover Pairings, M/M, Mission Related, Multifandom Tropefest 2019, One Night Stands, Pre-Canon, Tatooine (Star Wars)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2019-11-04
Packaged: 2020-12-24 09:07:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21096941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aurae/pseuds/Aurae
Summary: A mission for the Rebel Alliance takes Cassian Andor to Tatooine, and an unavoidable detour takes him in a direction he wasn’t expecting.





	Detour

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rivulet027](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rivulet027/gifts).

“I have no objections to staying with the ship,” K-2SO had informed Cassian. “It’ll ruin me beyond repair if any of that sand gets into my cognitive function servomotors.”

“Hmph. I’m glad we’re agreed for once,” Cassian had replied distractedly as he unloaded the landspeeder from the cargo hold and fired the repulsorlift engines up. “An Imperial security droid would stand out like a sore thumb on a Hutt-space Outer Rim backwater like Tatooine, and we’re not here to attract unwanted attention.”

“When is it ever our mission objective to attract unwanted attention?”

Cassian didn’t bother reminding K-2SO about their visit to Stygian Prime two and a quarter standard years ago—it hadn’t ended well (and was _that_ the understatement of the galaxy), and that had been mostly Cassian’s fault (_mostly_). Besides, he was already driving away and well out of earshot, even for the sensitive audio-receptors of cantankerous droids.

Problem was, he hadn’t counted on how much _he_, Cassian Andor, originally of Fest and lately of no place in particular he was authorized to mention, also stood out like a sore thumb on a Hutt-space Outer Rim backwater like Tatooine.

It wasn’t his species. Less than a day’s travel outside Mos Eisley and the only non-native sentients Cassian had encountered were human like himself, but in all other regards they and Cassian differed just as much as the average human differed from the average Jawa or Tusken. There was something about the demeanor of these humans, their provincial dispositions, the particular animation of their faces whenever they talked, that wasn’t quite replicated in Cassian himself. He could have learned to blend in with them, given time, but time was not a luxury for which he had ample supply.

And besides, it was much better just to keep his interaction with the locals at a minimum. Easier, less work, less potential for trouble, the whole shebang. Stay well out of their way, and hopefully they wouldn’t notice Cassian’s otherness.

Unfortunately, there was also one other thing he hadn’t counted on: He hadn’t counted on what Tatooine’s ubiquitous yellow sand would do when it got into his landspeeder’s engine servomotors. They were, as K-2SO would’ve put it, completely “ruined.”

The droid would be gloating and insufferable if he knew. (Which he didn’t, and Cassian intended to ensure the continuation of that particular state of affairs.)

So here Cassian was, on a middle of nowhere planet in a middle of nowhere town that he’d overheard someone say in passing was called Anchorhead, looking for someone who knew how to repair—and ideally sandproof—a landspeeder engine. And, just his damnable bad luck, as soon as he’d found a competent-seeming mechanic agreeing to a reasonable asking price, two Hutt cartel goons sauntered up.

“Don’t recognize you. You from around these parts, Mister…?” the first goon asked Cassian.

“Now, now, Jefy,” the second goon said, big Trandoshan body muscling the mechanic back into a corner, “you know you’re not supposed to take on outside business without Jabba’s prior express permission. If you don’t hold up your end of the non-competition agreement, we won’t be able to uphold ours, and it would be such a shame, a terrible, terrible shame, if something bad were to happen to you wife and children…”

“Look, please, I didn’t mean it—I’m sorry—I—” the mechanic began weakly. He looked moments from dissolving into an abject puddle on the flowstone floor.

“And as for _you_, Mister…?” the first goon said to Cassian.

Cassian met the goon’s gaze levelly. He didn’t speak, but his hand drifted toward the blaster at his belt.

“Well, as for _you_,” the first goon continued as his own hand drifted toward the blaster at _his_ belt, “you should know that we don’t take kindly to strangers encroaching on business in these parts. I’m afraid you’re going to have to come with—”

“Whoa! Hey, where’ve you been?! I’ve been looking all over for you!” a young, bright voice with the cadence of a local reverberated through the mechanic’s garage.

“Skywalker,” the second goon growled, one-track mind temporarily distracted. He clearly recognized the owner of the voice.

“Ah, it’s good to see you, Luke,” the mechanic said, sliding deftly sideways past the reach of the second goon and greeting the newcomer as he entered with a near-palpable sigh of relief.

The young human looked just as young and bright as his voice sounded, and he was looking directly at Cassian. “I thought you’d run off or something! Evening harvest begins in an hour; we really need to get back to the farm.”

“Umm, okay,” Cassian said, deciding to play along. “Sorry. If you’ll excuse me—”

“Hey now, I don’t recall saying you were excused,” the first of Jabba’s goons interrupted. His suspicions weren’t so easily dispelled. “You’re a newcomer, Mister WhateverYourNameIs, which means—”

“Leave him alone, Slith. He’s a tenant worker on our farm, and our farm is completely paid up with Jabba,” Luke said, his posture radiating boyish confidence and bravado. “And don’t you dare tell me we’re not paid up, Slith—I brought the quarterly fee in myself just last week, _remember_?”

The first of Jabba’s goons—the one Luke had named Slith—glared, but he was already backing down, Cassian could tell. “Yeah, yeah, the Larses are in good standing with our organization. C’mon, Graq, let’s go,” he said to the second goon. “But Luke, next time don’t forget to formally register the full names of _every _being resident in the household. We wouldn’t want another misunderstanding going forward, now would we?”

“No, of course not. I’ll be more careful next time. Thanks for the reminder, Slith,” Luke said smoothly as the two goons shot Cassian, Luke, and the mechanic a few choice tough guy glares before slinking back out of the garage back into Tatooine’s fierce afternoon sunslight.

“Thank you, Luke,” Cassian said.

“No problem.” Luke shrugged, seemingly unconcerned by the very real danger to his personal safety those two Hutt cartel goons had posed. “They shouldn’t be threatening people of the township in broad daylight anyway. Sets a bad example. And you are…?”

“Cassian,” Cassian said. He didn’t know why he gave his real name, which was something he hardly ever did when on assignment, but whatever the reason on this occasion he did.

“A pleasure to meet you, Cassian.” He and Luke shook hands. The palm of Luke’s hand was rough and warm.

***

The landspeeder engine work wouldn’t be completed until the following morning. Deeming it politic to lay low, lest the Hutt cartel goons notice Cassian and Luke going immediately in their separate directions, Luke negotiated a night in the room above the mechanic’s garage for Cassian.

After that, it would’ve been safe to leave Cassian to his own devices, but Luke, in spite of what he had said earlier about the evening harvest beginning within the hour, lingered like he couldn’t quite bring himself to leave something—some_one_—as self-evidently novel as Cassian behind yet.

“Slith and Graq were right about one thing—you aren’t from around here,” Luke said, straight to the point. “So what brings you to this part of Tatooine?”

Cassian wasn’t about to tell a stranger his real purpose here. He shrugged. “Oh, I just thought I’d try getting lost for awhile.”

Luke emitted a sudden, sharp bark of laughter. It was surprisingly bitter. “Well, this old dust ball sure is the perfect place to do that. I’ve lived on Tatooine my entire life, and boy does it feel like being lost most of the time! I could do with a bit more being found! I’m gonna blast off from here as soon as my Uncle Owen can spare me. Then I plan to stay gone.”

“It’s true that a lot of the galaxy is a lot less boring,” Cassian said.

“I’m counting on it!”

“That may or may not be a good thing, Luke.”

Luke studied Cassian, then, his clear blue eyes keen. He seemed to sense that Cassian wouldn’t welcome questions about his past or where he’d come from. So instead, he asked, “Which direction were you heading before you broke down?”

“Oh, I dunno. I was thinking of checking out those hills out on the western horizon,” Cassian said noncommittally. That _was_ actually the direction he needed to be heading come tomorrow, but since he hadn’t said why, and those hills happened also to be the most interesting piece of landscape for kilometers around, it seemed safe enough to tell the truth.

“That’s the Jundland Wastes. A good place to get lost, if nothing else.” Luke nodded—seemed he’d accepted Cassian’s self-account without question. “Nothing and nobody much out there besides Sand People and the occasional mad recluse. Not normally a place people go for fun, but…” Luke paused, and he looked Cassian up and down slowly. It was an appreciative look; he clearly liked what he saw. “I’d bet you can take care of yourself.”

“I can,” Cassian said.

A pause. The silence lengthened, and Luke shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably. Cassian wondered if he’d excuse himself politely and take his leave. But then Luke’s brows knit together stubbornly, and he barreled forward, closing the distance between himself and Cassian and mashing his mouth against Cassian’s in an awkward but enthusiastic kiss.

Not wholly unexpected—Luke was a bored local boy, and Cassian was a newcomer. He gave it a count of three before placing his hands on Luke’s shoulders and breaking the kiss. “How old are you?” he asked.

Luke’s kiss-reddened lower lip jutted out in a pout that made him seem even younger still. “How old do I look to you?” he asked petulantly. “I’m nineteen, and I know what I’m about!”

Ugh. Only seven years younger than Cassian, but he might as well be a baby by comparison. By the time _Cassian_ was nineteen years old, he’d already fought in the trenches of three wars and killed more beings with a blaster rifle than he could count. By comparison, this kid was as pure as the driven snow he’d undoubtedly never experienced firsthand on a desert planet like Tatooine, and Cassian figured that worst thing he’d ever done in his life was stay out partying with his age mates past curfew.

But perhaps he’d also been doing things like this. Cassian didn’t have much else to do at the moment, and he realized he’d actually like to be doing this kid quite a lot. He sighed softly, combed is fingers through the feathery, sun-bleached blond locks of Luke’s hair, and pulled Luke back in for a second kiss.

Luke _did_ know what he was about, as it turned out. The desert night was long, but Cassian didn’t get much sleep.

***

The next morning, Cassian’s landspeeder engine was repaired, and Cassian himself was pleasantly sore in all the right places. Luke had had to sneak out in the early hours before dawn so as not to anger his aunt and uncle (any more than they would be already, anyway).

He _was_ just a kid, Cassian reflected. Still, he had no regrets about what they’d done.

The location of the dead drop took less than half a day out from Anchorhead to reach. Cassian scouted the premises first to ensure that nobody was watching, but Luke had been right: If ever there was a good place to get lost for awhile, it was the Jundland Wastes. There was not a single sign of life anywhere. Who in the gods’ unholy galaxy would think to put a dead drop _here_? But Cassian supposed that was the point.

He found the drop box under a pointy bit of rock exactly where he was told it would be. It was empty, as he was told it would likely be. No pickup. Just a delivery today. Cassian put the data chip he’d been carrying in a hidden pocket of his vest inside, closed the lid, and replaced the box under the pointy bit of rock.

Mission accomplished.

The drive back to Mos Eisley spaceport and the dock where their ship (and K-2SO) was waiting took the rest of the day. It was hot and dusty but otherwise wholly uneventful.

“You’re late,” K-2SO announced when he returned shortly after nightfall. “A full day late, to be precise.”

“Some things happened,” Cassian said. “Unavoidable stuff. No big deal. You were right about the sand being a nuisance.”

“Some_one_ happened, you mean,” K-2SO said.

Cassian had no idea how K-2SO had guessed, but he could be damned observant when he wanted to be. Cassian decided not to deny it. “Yeah. Let’s get off this dust ball.”

END

**Author's Note:**

> Posted to the exchange on October 20, 2019.


End file.
